


Three-and-a-Half Months

by beetle



Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Tower, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Friends With Benefits, Gynandromorph, Gynandromorphism, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Dr. Bruce Banner, Mentions of Dr. Helen Cho, Mentions of Friday (Marvel), Mentions of Homophobic Language, Mpreg, Spideypool - Freeform, Wade is Being an Asshole, white box - Freeform, yellow box - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade and Peter get some . . . startling news. And they react. Written for this writing prompt (http://unblockingwritersblock.tumblr.com/post/146320528923/writing-prompt-539-thats-what-they-said): “You’re lucky I’m tired because if I was fully awake I would have already shoved you off this roof.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three-and-a-Half Months

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jimmywren13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimmywren13/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: AU. Mpreg. Kinda crack, but not really? Humor, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending . . . I don’t even effing _know_. This literally popped into my head after weeks of battling insomnia and a particularly _wicked_ sleepless night spent reading WinterFalcon fanfic. I might turn this into a chaptered fic or series, but only if you guys dig it. Let me know.

[White]

{Yellow}

_Deadpool_

 

“Heyya, Baby Boy,” Wade murmured softly, knowing that Peter’s spidey-sense would’ve alerted him to Wade’s presence well before he spoke. And—according to Drs. Cho and Banner—Peter’s spidey-sense was going to be _extra_ sensitive, now, and for the next five and a half months.

 

As he let himself onto the roof of the Avengers’ Tower fully, instead of lingering in the service hatch Friday had been good enough to open for him without having to be asked, he kept his eyes on Peter, who stood in full Spidey regalia near the western ledge, staring into the sunset with a grim set to his shoulders. Wade sighed.

 

“Y’know, starin’ into the sun like that can’t be good even for spidey-eyes, sweetheart,” he said gently, approaching slowly—getting punched in the nuts once today by his . . . _whatever_ Petey was, was more than enough—and trying to ignore the conflicting advice coming from Yellow and White.

 

{Tell him we love him! That we’re here for him! That we don’t even _care_ if he gets real fat and angry!}

 

[Or,] White suggested dryly, calmly, in contrast to Yellow’s bouncing and near-visible exclamation points, [you could try, for once, _not_ saying the things that get you punched in the nuts by the people you’re sleeping with.]

 

Okay, actually, White’s advice maybe made a little sense. Wade’s balls and dick were still aching dully from what’d happened in Dr. Cho’s office.

 

So, he opened his mouth, and tried to say something nurturing and sensitive. Unfortunately, what came rolling out of his mouth was _Yellow’s_ idea of nurturing and sensitive. “Hey—if you stare long enough into the sun, you’ll damage your eyes, Petey, and ya gotta remember: you’re damaging your eyes for two, now.”

 

Peter winced, his tightly-balled fists tightening further, before loosening. Then his left hand drifted almost unwillingly to his abdomen, settling there with hesitant gentleness.

 

After a few seconds, it dropped away and Peter’s shoulders squared, stiffened—then rolled, as if he was limbering up for a fight.

 

{Oh, _fuck_ , he’ll go straight for our _nuts_ , again!} Yellow screeched, ducking for cover in a corner of Wade’s mind.

 

Before White could chip in with his two cents, Peter had spun around, somehow managing to make his glare felt even through the lenses of his mask. Wade automatically cupped his hands over his groin and tried on a shit-eating, but conciliatory grin. Then yanked off his mask quickly, when he realized Peter wouldn’t be able to see said grin. He then dropped the mask and immediately covered the goods again.

 

But Peter just stood there, probably-glaring at him. “You’re lucky I’m so tired, because if I was fully awake, I would've already shoved you off this roof.”

 

“But baby—”

 

“I _don’t_ want to see you, right now, Deadpool,” Peter said in a cold, low tone. Wade flinched, more from Peter calling him _Deadpool_ , than from the tone. After all, Peter using that _particular_ tone with him was neither uncommon nor alarming. Usually. But over the past eight months, Wade had gotten used to Peter calling him by his _given_ name.

 

“Okay, okay, that’s fine—I understand.” Wade risked holding out his hands in a gesture of concession. “If you want, I could put the mask back on, and you could, maybe, just—y’know, hear what I gotta say?”

 

Peter barked a slightly hysterical laugh that sounded heart-wrenchingly close to a sob. “Oh, I think you said enough in Dr. Cho’s office. There really isn’t anything else that I need to hear from you on _any_ subject. _Especially this one_.”

 

And Peter’s hand drifted to his abdomen again, this time lingering lightly. Something about that sight made Wade’s heart climb up into his throat, so that he couldn’t get enough oxygen past it.

 

He didn’t even realize he was moving closer until Peter took a small step back. Wade instinctively made a noise of warning and stopped moving, before remembering that Peter Parker was also _The Amazing Spider-Man_ , and falling off of high places wasn’t exactly a big problem for him.

 

“Wait—don’t leave!” he pleaded, holding out his hands again, this time in a halting gesture. Peter’s head tilted microscopically, as if he was surprised or something. Whatever he was feeling or thinking, he didn’t instantly web away, and Wade took that as a marginally good sign.

 

{And our nuts are still relatively unpunched, considering,} Yellow whispered hopefully.

 

[The conversation’s still young,] White noted without inflection.

 

“Why should I stay?” Peter asked, another sob-laugh bubbling up from his chest. His hand was still resting on his abdomen and Wade was pretty sure Peter didn’t even realize. “There’s nothing left to say and I’m—” that laugh again . . . or _was_ it more of a sob? “—I’m having a _really_ _rough_ fucking day.”

 

“And I’m not makin’ it any better, am I, Baby Boy?” Wade asked ruefully. This time, the tilting of Peter’s head was more than microscopic and it telegraphed his surprise as clearly as his face would’ve, were he not wearing the damn mask.

 

“You . . . _Jesus_ , Wade. Jesus.” Peter sighed heavily. He sounded exhausted and _scared_. And so fucking _young_. And he _was_ young. Just turned twenty last fall. He and Wade had celebrated by spending the entire day destroying Peter’s creaky old futon. Well, not _really_. After the futon broke, early in their little liaison, Wade had spent the _rest_ of the day bending his _incredibly_ bendy spider over _any_ relatively stable, load-bearing surface and fucking him until even _Deadpool’s_ amazing dick was beginning to chafe . . . until Peter’s neighbor had long since stopped banging on the wall and yelling: “ _Shut up, faggots_!”

 

“I’m so sorry, Baby Boy,” Wade whispered, hands still held out. Peter simply stared at him, shaking his head slightly, more in incredulity than negation.

 

“What do _you_ have to be sorry for, Wade?” Peter laughed that sob or sobbed that laugh, again. “Is it _your_ fault I’m a _freak_? That this . . . _thing_ is growing inside me?”

 

“Actually . . . yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s _at_ _least_ _half_ my fault, Petey,” Wade said apologetically, his smile inviting Peter to smile back even though smiling was probably the last thing Peter wanted to be doing right now. Then _Wade’s_ smile faltered as something popped into his head—something he couldn’t even blame on White or Yellow. “Unless . . . unless there’s been someone else. . . ?”

 

He’d thought Peter might get angry again, or simply web away without answering, no matter _what_ the answer was. But instead, Peter sighed again. When he spoke, his voice was small and strangely bereft. “No,” he said, barely audible over the sound of the cold March wind. “There wasn’t anybody else, Wade . . . there never has been.”

 

Wade’s eyes widened.

 

{Oh, _fuck_!}

 

[Indeed.]

 

{We got Petey’s . . . _precious flower_?!} Yellow sounded, for once, scandalized, and on the verge of fainting. If he even _could_ faint. {Oh, my God of Thunder!}

 

“You . . . you were. . . .”

 

“A virgin? Yes,” Peter sounded as if he was smiling now, but not a happy one. “What? You couldn’t tell? I wasn’t exactly skilled the first time we had sex. I mean, it’s not like I rocked your world, Wade.”

 

“Actually, you _did_ , Petey.” Wade’s brow furrowed. “It was _you_ . . . of _course_ you rocked my world.”

 

Wade could feel Peter’s shock, even if he couldn’t see it. Peter glanced over his shoulder, at the horizon or the city below, then stepped off the ledge—

 

—and onto the roof, once more. But he didn’t move closer to Wade than that bare step.

 

“What do you mean it was _me_?” he asked, his voice small again, and almost helplessly vulnerable. Then it hardened. “Was it _really_ that big of a _coup_ to bag _Spider-Man_? Did you really want me to be a notch on your bedpost _that_ badly?”

 

“Yeah, but—not like how _you’re_ makin’ it sound, Petey!” Wade said quickly as Peter started to turn toward the ledge again. It was enough to make him pause, head tilted again at that unwillingly curious angle. “It was good because it’s _you_. _Peter Parker_. I mean, you’re Spider-Man, yeah, and I had a _huge_ crush on Spider-Man for the _longest_ time . . . but then. . . .”

 

“But then?” Wary, hesitant voice, and Peter’s hand had dropped away from his abdomen. Wade found he’d liked the sight well enough to miss it.

 

“But then . . . I got to know you— _you_ you. _Peter_ -you. And . . . Peter-you is . . . fucking _awesome_! Beautiful and smart and funny and sweet. He likes to sleep in late because he usually spends his nights being the most heroic and selfless person I ever met. So, of course, he’s _not_ a morning person and he’s fucking monosyllabic till he’s had at _least_ twenty-four ounces of high-octane coffee and twenty minutes to process it. He’s ticklish as _fuck_ and purrs like a kitten when I kiss a certain sweet-spot above his right elbow, and that’s fuckin’ _adorable_. . . .”

 

Wade could all but hear Peter’s bright blush. “Wade,” he began uncertainly. But Wade kept talking. It was the only weapon in his arsenal, so he kept using it.

 

“He visits his Aunt May every Sunday, no matter how tired or thrashed he is, come rain or shine or snow. He studies hard because despite the fact that he’s at least as smart as Tony Stark and Bruce Banner combined, he still thinks that his brain is, like, not worthy or good enough unless he marinates it in textbooks that have very _tiny_ print and practically _no_ pictures. Which is fuckin’ _insane_ , if you ask me, and I _know_ from crazy.” Wade huffed and Peter laughed again, only this time, it sounded like an _actual_ laugh, even though it was shaky and a bit waterlogged.

 

“And did I mention the part where he’s _beautiful_? The most gorgeous fuckin’ human being I ever saw? _Jesus_ , Spidey, he’s got this cute little pixie-nose, pink cheeks, and these sparkling hazel eyes that have flecks of green and gold in ‘em, and . . . _fuck_ , I just get _lost_ in ‘em, sometimes. Even if I’m just picturing them in my mind.” Sighing, Wade looked down at his boots, smiling sadly. “And he’s just . . . _more_ , y’know. More than I’ll ever _amount_ to. More than I’ll _ever_ deserve. _More_. And I . . . I love him. I _love_ him and have, I think, since the moment I looked into those eyes. ‘Cause if eyes really _are_ the windows to the soul, then, brother, _my_ _Petey_ must have a fuckin’ _galaxy_ inside him, all starshine and wonder. He’s _gotta_ , ‘cause when I look into his eyes, that’s what I see: _stars_. _Worlds_. _Wonder_ waitin’ to be explored. And I feel _lucky_ , since . . . for a little while, anyway, I got to explore those worlds and that wonder. Got to be a part of something more beautiful than I have words to describe.”

 

Falling silent, Wade looked up and blinked in surprise. Peter had moved closer—halved the distance between them silently, without Wade noticing—and his hand was back at his abdomen, rubbing slowly, thoughtfully.

 

“You,” Peter breathed in a strangely whistling voice, as if he, too, was speaking around his heart. Then his free hand was reaching up to his mask. A second later, it was laying on the rooftop, a splash of red on clean, slate-grey tile. Peter’s thick, shaggy dark hair whipped about in the wind and his hazel eyes, always so expressive and open, were wide and shocked, scared and . . . hopeful? “You . . . _love_ _me_?”

 

“Of course I do, Peter! How could I _not_?” Wade—and the Boxes, for that matter—were genuinely baffled. Peter blinked several times, rapidly, his eyes suddenly a lot shinier than they’d been moments ago.

 

“Well, for starters, we just—we were friends with bennies, Wade! That’s all! We never talked about . . . about _feelings_ or what would happen if one of us caught them!”

 

Still smiling, though it felt patently false and almost painful, now, Wade shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. Peter was right, and the feelings Wade had caught weren’t _Peter’s_ problem to deal with. So Wade wouldn’t force him to.

 

“You’re absolutely right, Baby Boy. I knew goin’ in that this thing between us . . . that it could never go anywhere. That a guy like you’d never fall for a fuckin’ _gargoyle_ like me. Some damn freak-show with no conscience and a buttload of crazy. Not when you could have anyone in the _world_ pantin’ after you, tryin’ to catch your eye.” Wade shrugged once more, glancing westward, till orange was burned temporarily into his retinas. “I just count myself lucky to have had you for a little while. Whether it was curiosity or desperation—or, _fuck_ , even _pity_ —you were _mine_ , Baby Boy. For a little while. I’m just sorry I burdened you with . . . _this_.”

 

Silence fell between them, one that hadn’t even broken by the time the after-image of the sunset faded from Wade’s eyes. He blinked at Peter, who was watching him with so many emotions flickering across his face so fast, Wade couldn’t, for once, read him.

 

“Like I said, you’re not to blame—and don’t gimme that bullshit about _fifty percent_ your fault, either,” Peter said, holding up the hand not on his abdomen to forestall Wade’s protests. His smile was a pained grimace. “It’s hardly _your_ fault that I got bit by a fucking radioactive spider that was also a—a—”

 

“Gynandromorph,” Wade finished carefully, when Peter couldn’t seem to. Wade had never even heard the word before Dr. Cho’s office, today.

 

“Yes. A gynandromorph,” Peter said softly, looking down, blushing. “I went and got myself bit. As far as _I’m_ concerned, this whole mess is _my_ fault. Not yours. You . . . you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re not—not _obligated_ to . . . hang around just because. . . .”

 

“Because that’s _my baby_ you’re carrying?” Wade finished almost pleadingly—though _what_ he was pleading for, he didn’t know—and Peter shivered, his grimace turning into an outright frown.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely, and a tear ran down his face, followed quickly by others as his shoulders slumped and he seemed to collapse in on himself. Before Wade even thought about it consciously, he was closing the gap between them and wrapping his arms around Peter, holding him carefully, but close. After a few moments of stiff unresponsiveness, Peter’s whole body just went limp and he sagged in Wade’s arms, shaking and sniffling.

 

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Sorry this happened, sorry it happened to _you_ . . . that you’re saddled with the baby of someone like _me_. . . .” Wade’s own voice was rough, his vision blurred into a smear of bright orange light and the dark relief of Peter’s sweet-smelling hair. “Oh, _fuck_ . . . I’m _sorry_ , sweetheart. Sorry you’re tied to me by _this_.”

 

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined becoming a father, you know?” Peter’s sobs were also shaky laughs. They sounded slightly less hysterical than before, however. “I imagined being married for a few years, settled down, a house, a great job—me in my thirties—and a nice, long adoption process. And classes. _Many_ parenting classes.”

 

Wade smiled in spite of himself. “Hey, if nothing else, you can _still_ take those classes, y'know?”

 

Peter’s giggle was also waterlogged, but real. “ _Not_ helping, douche.”

 

Leaning back a little to look down into Peter’s face, Wade’s heart beat a little faster, as always. Even exhausted, pale, and red about the eyes and nose, Peter was _still_ beautiful. And in the light of sunset, he seemed to . . . _glow_.

 

“I didn’t mean what I said back in Cho’s office. I’m sorry, Peter,” Wade apologized quietly. Peter shook his head dismissively, still sniffling.

 

“You weren’t asking anything Cho, herself, didn’t also ask . . . that I hadn’t already considered. Though you could’ve asked in a more _tactful_ way.” Peter’s _real_ smile broke out, small, uncertain, but there. “ _I_ wasn’t even sure I was gonna keep the b-baby, until. . . .”

 

Wade’s eyes widened and his heart lifted to his throat once more, but this time, he could breathe just fine—in fact, he felt light-headed from all the oxygen he was getting. Or from _something_. “You’re . . . so you _are_ gonna keep our baby?”

 

Peter’s brow furrowed and he looked probably even _more_ gobsmacked than he had when Cho had informed him he was just over three months pregnant. “Yes, I . . . I _want_ to. I mean, I have _no fucking clue_ what I’m doing, or how to be a dad. Or even how to be _pregnant_. . . ! But, yes, Wade. Hopefully with some help from Cho and Banner, and any specialist they can get in on this . . . I’m going to keep . . . _our_ _baby_.”

 

“Oh, _Petey_ , baby, that’s—” Wade’s chest felt like a sail with a strong wind belling it out and he couldn’t stop grinning. “ _Fuck_ , Baby Boy, you’re gonna be a _kickass_ father! I just _know_ it!” Hugging Peter close for a minute—Peter, surprisingly, settled in his embrace with a relieved sigh—Wade resisted the urge to scoop Peter up and kiss him silly.

 

Instead, he kissed Peter’s temple chastely and let go. Took a step back and tried to calm himself—and Yellow, who was whooping in his head like a madman—down. “And don’t think I’m gonna be no deadbeat dad, either! I swear on my life, that you and the baby’ll never want for money or a safe place to live or _anything_. I’ll even set up a trust for the kid so that when he’s grown up, he’ll have some money to fall back on, too. And I—I mean, it’s no strings attached, of course. I’ll stay as far away from you both as you want. I won’t bother you or try to . . . insert myself into your lives.”

 

Peter’s tentative smile faded slowly. “What—what do you mean ‘insert yourself’ into our lives, Wade? You mean you’re not . . . you don’t _want_ —” his big hazel eyes were filling with tears again and he looked utterly miserable, as if he’d just been broken into a million little pieces, despite the fact that he was still standing. “You don’t even wanna _see_ your baby?”

 

“Oh, God—oh, _Jesus_ , _no,_ Petey! I mean— _yes_! _Of course_ , I wanna see my baby! I wanna be there for his birth, for his first smile, his first steps, his first day of school—his first damn _date_! I wanna see if he gets your pretty eyes and my totally _ripped_ abs.” Peter laughed unwillingly once more. “ _Yes_ , I wanna be there, Peter. More than _anything_. But I _can’t_.”

 

“ _Why_ , Wade?” Peter blinked and more tears fell. “I thought . . . you _said_ —” taking a breath, Peter looked down at the space between them, arms wrapping around himself in a way that made him seem fragile and small. So much so, that Wade had to fight instinct and the Boxes about pulling Peter into his arms again. Wade won, but the victory felt Pyrrhic. “I th-thought you l-loved me.”

 

“I do! _So much_ , Baby Boy! You _and_ the sprog! And that’s why I’m giving you what you _want_!”

 

Peter sneaked a glance up at him, his eyes large and wounded. “You think you not being in our child’s life is what I _want_?”

 

“Well . . . _yeah_.” Wade shrugged once more, calm as fuck, even though it felt like his insides were quivering and shaking. “Who’d want someone like _me_ around his kid, huh? Amirite?”

 

Peter was frowning again, staring up into Wade’s eyes as if he was suddenly putting together puzzle pieces. Wade had seen the same look on Peter’s face when he was concentrating on fixing a malfunctioning web-shooter and had finally solved the problem.

 

“To answer your question,” Peter began carefully, his eyes shining, piercing up into Wade’s, as naked as a child’s. “ _I_ would. I _want_ you around my child. Around _our_ child. I want you to be there for _all_ his firsts. To watch him grow up. I want . . . I want you to be with _me_ through the pregnancy . . . if, you know . . . that was something you didn’t mind doing.” Peter’s voice had started out careful and firm, but ended small and quiet, again. “I _want_ you in our lives, Wade. Mine and our baby’s.”

 

Wade, meanwhile, was gaping, his brain a fuzz of white noise except for the sudden chatter of Yellow.

 

{ _What_ did he say? What did he _say_?} the excitable Box was demanding. White was markedly more sanguine. Morose, even.

 

[But this . . . this is _impossible_. He _can’t_ know what he’s asking. Perhaps hormones have already made him . . . emotionally unstable.]

 

Wade was, thankfully, smart enough not to even _hint_ to Peter that _any_ part of him thought that might be the case.

 

“When you say _in your lives_ ,” Wade started in a weird, high, breathless voice. Peter reached out with his free hand and took Wade’s, his eyes still unguarded, still hopeful, still shining bright. He pulled Wade’s hand to his abdomen and removed his own to make room.

 

“I _mean_ . . . if you want . . . we could be a _family_. You know . . . _together_.” Peter’s lips curved a tiny bit, but not enough to be a smile. “You, me, and baby makes three, and all that.”

 

“ _Fuck_!” exploded from Wade’s mouth and Peter, startled, began to draw away. But before the gentle heat of Peter’s tenanted abdomen even left Wade’s hand, he was following Peter’s hesitant movement, his hand settling once more on the just slightly-curved surface. Peter still had _abs_ —like _whoa_ , even—but there was a definite curve that hadn’t been there three months ago.

 

 _My baby_ , Wade thought, momentarily so numb, he was giddy with it. Then that numbness shattered into a _zillion_ pieces—to _dust_ , that was blown away on the chilly breeze—and happiness, big and incautious, spread through him. _That’s_ my _baby, in there! Petey’s gonna have_ my baby _and he wants . . . he wants_ me _to be there! To be a part of their lives!_

 

“ _My_ baby,” Wade murmured wonderingly and Peter’s lips curved into what _anyone_ would consider a smile. His hand—chilled but gentle—settled on Wade’s and his eyes were still shining.

 

“Yes, Wade. You’re gonna be a _daddy_.” He swallowed nervously. “Even if you don’t want to . . . play house with _me_ , I still want you to be in your child’s life as much as possible. That’s _not_ contingent on us being a couple. It never will be.”

 

{But he _wants_ us to be a couple,} Yellow said, clearly in shock. {Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, Petey _wants_ to be with us . . . he _loves_ us!}

 

[That remains to be seen. After all, he hasn’t _said_ it,] White warned, and Wade flinched. He looked into Peter’s lovely eyes and _thought_ that what he saw there _might_ be love . . . but how could he be certain if Peter didn’t _tell_ him?

 

“Petey, do you . . . I—do you _love_ me?” Wade blurted out. Peter’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pursed as if he thought Wade was the _dumbest_ sonuvabitch he’d ever met.

 

 _Possibly, I am,_ Wade thought, unsurprised when the Boxes agreed with him instantly. Then he was yelping as Peter pinched his arm with what _had_ to be all his spidey-strength behind it.

 

“Ow! _Damnit_ , Petey!” Wade whined, rubbing his arm. Peter glared at him, hands covering his abdomen protectively. Then he kicked Wade in the shin, for good measure. _Hard_. “The _fuck_! That _hurt_!”

 

“Good!” Peter watched Wade hop on one leg for most of a minute before speaking. “What the _fuck_ kinda question is that, you ass?! Of _course_ , I love you! Why do you _think_ I’ve been pouring my _heart_ out to you on this roof for the past twenty minutes? What do you think I’ve been _doing_ with you for the past _eight months_?”

 

“But—back there—in Cho’s office . . . you punched me in the _fuckin’ dick_!”

 

“And _you_ got me _pregnant_!” Peter shouted . . . then he colored, but didn’t look away. He held his ground righteously and lowered his voice into a tight, calm monotone. “Yes, Wade. I punched you in the dick. But we’d _just_ found out I was pregnant—a seeming scientific _impossibility_ —and the _first_ thing out of _your_ big, goddamn _mouth_ was: ‘ _Damn_ , I’m good! So, ya gonna keep it, hot stuff, or are we takin’ a ride to Planned Parenthood for Mutants?’ I mean, _seriously_ , Wade!”

 

Blushing and embarrassed—he _really_ had to stop letting the Boxes, especially _Yellow_ , hijack his mouth when he was at a loss for words—Wade tried to smile apologetically. “I’m sorry? It just slipped out?”

 

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Peter crossed his arms over his chest and raised one fine, dark eyebrow.

 

“Uh . . . telling you? Yeah, that one.” Peter rolled his eyes disbelievingly and Wade hopped a little closer, still rubbing his abused shin. “I really _am_ sorry, Petey. But, look, I had no idea you had _any_ kinda feelings for me except crotch-related ones. You said . . . friends-with-bennies.”

 

“I only said that because I didn’t want you to know how much _you_ —the love of my fucking _life_ —maybe leaving me _alone and pregnant_ , _hurt_!” Peter raised his right fist as if he was going to swing on Wade, who hopped back—he hoped—out of striking range.

 

But then Peter’s eyes widened, his glare softened into another vulnerable gaze, and his mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds. He slowly lowered his hand, muttering to himself ruefully.

 

“Yes,” he finally said, meek and weary. “Of _course_ , I love you, Wade. I’ve been in love with you since senior year of high school.”

 

Wade blinked. “For . . . _three years_?”

 

Peter nodded dully, looking down. “I thought all you wanted was to hook up—hit it and quit it, so to speak . . . that the only reason you wanted me was because you thought I was hot jailbait. At first it made me mad . . . then it made me _sad_ . . . and then I decided . . . if that was the only way I could have you—if that was all I’d ever _get_ from you, then I’d take it and be grateful to have _anything at all_.”

 

Wade was gaping again, his leg and arm forgotten. Then he snorted incredulously. “Baby Boy, have _you_ got the plot all twisted. You _are_ hot, but that’s _not_ the only reason I want you. I _love_ you. I’ve _never_ met _anyone_ like you. If I thought you would, I’d make an honest man outta you.”

 

Peter looked up, startled. “ _What_ did you say?”

 

{Wait—back up?}

 

[Isn’t this a bit . . . premature?]

 

 _Not when he’s gonna have my fuckin’_ baby _, it’s not! Not when . . . not when he’s fucking_ it _, for me. The_ one. . . .

 

Wade swallowed nervously, but went on, stepping closer, until he was in Peter’s personal space. The other man looked up at him with those wide, startled eyes. “I’d _marry_ you, Petey. In fact, if I wasn’t so afraid of getting punched in the fucking _junk_ again, I’d propose to you right now.”

 

{Oh, _balls_ —}

 

[Perhaps we might step out of striking range, once more. . . .]

 

But Wade ignored the Boxes and kept all his focus on Peter, who looked like a harsh word would shatter him. Before he could have any second thoughts, Wade went down on his left knee, never breaking eye contact with Peter.

 

“I don’t have a ring,” he said softly, and Peter’s sudden smile was breathtaking.

 

“And _I_ kinda don’t _care_ ,” he exhaled and Wade grinned, taking Peter’s hand. The other one went to his abdomen once more and Wade couldn’t help but think how _right_ it looked there.

 

“Baby Boy . . . Petey . . . _Peter Benjamin Parker_ ,” Wade finally intoned in his deepest voice. Peter rolled his eyes, but was still smiling that brilliant smile. “I may not _deserve_ you, but by _Odin_ , no one on this Earth is gonna love you and our family more than _I_ will. I will _always_ be there, always _protect_ you, always put you _first_.

 

“I’m layin’ all my cards on the table here, sweetheart: I wanna be your husband for as long as you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

 

Peter’s eyes were tearing up again, but that smile was wider than ever. He dropped gracefully to his knees, one hand still in Wade’s, the other still on his abdomen.

 

“Yes, Wade Winston Wilson. I’ll marry you. I’ll have you _forever_ , if that’s what you want.”

 

“It is. That’s what I want,” Wade answered the subtle question in Peter’s quiet voice. And if he’d thought Peter was _beaming_ _before_. . . .

 

Then they were in each other’s arms, kissing tenderly, slowly. At first. The kiss shortly turned hard and desperate, their hands caressing and sliding reverently over each other.

 

“Take my name?” Wade panted between kisses. Peter chuckled.

 

“Only if you take mine.”

 

“ _Whah_. . . ?”

 

“Wade _Parker-Wilson_ . . . has a ring to it.” Peter hummed into their next kiss as Wade squeezed his ass with both hands, then tried to scrabble down the back of his suit. All he wanted was Peter's warm, smooth skin and lithe, long muscles.

 

“Not as nice as Peter _Wilson-Parker_.”

 

“Mm . . . but baby, I like the other way _better_. . . .” Peter was pouting, blinking big eyes up at Wade soulfully. Wade opened his mouth to say _okay, whatever you want, Baby Boy_ . . . then he glowered as he realized he was being _played_.

 

Like a fucking _Stradivarius_.

 

“Okay, only _one_ of us can wear the pants in this family, Baby Boy,” he began flatly, in his most commanding tone. The one that made that one HYDRA agent cry that time. “And since _I_ top—”

 

“From the _bottom_!” Peter protested huffily, eyes narrowed, as he leaned back and smacked Wade’s hands away from his waistband. “Just because I take it up the ass doesn’t mean I’m a _doormat_ , you fucking _caveman_! So be _very_ careful how you finish that sentence, _Mr_. _Parker-Wilson_ , because we both know I can, will, and _have_ punched you in the fucking junk!”

 

For a few moments, there was silence . . . but for the sound of the wind whipping around them. Up _this_  high, there weren't even birds. The normally ever-present sounds of the city—car horns, traffic, indignant shouting, the subway, general chatter—were absent at this height.  

 

“Wow!" Wade finally exclaimed nervously. "Well! That puts a different color on things, doesn't it?” He winced, his hands automatically going to his groin to protect and defend. “Uh . . . what if, uh, we wanna give little Wade, Jr. a brother or sister, someday? Can’t do _that_ if you keep up with the, uh, cock-shots, huh, baby? Even _my_ healing ability's gotta have a ceiling,” he reasoned, and Peter raised an eyebrow coolly. Wade winced again.

 

{Jeez, I guess we _all_ know who’ll be wearing the pants from now on,} Yellow huffed.

 

[At least we look _damn_ good in a nice, strappy, off-the-shoulder number,] White sighed in dreary resignation.

 

 _He punched me in the_ fucking dick _with_ spidey-strength _!_ Wade hissed at the Boxes, who were only slightly sympathetic, themselves being disembodied. _Damn_ right _, I’ll wear the fucking dress if he tells me to! And a matching set of heels!_

 

“So, that’s settled, then! No more cock-shots . . . finito-complete-o! Uh, right, babe? Babe?” The silence dragged out until Wade began to worry about Peter’s answer, his hands cupping even more protectively around his goods.

 

“Well.” Peter smiled with poisoned sweetness and Wade, had he been a smarter man, might have wondered what he was getting himself into. As it was, he clutched at his poor wedding tackle with anxious desperation. “Worse comes to worst, if we want more kids, we can always adopt.”

 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> More in this 'verse? Holla atcha bug!
> 
> And, as always, [follow me on Tumblr](https://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com/)!


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